


Emerald Darkness Deep

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: A Study in Emerald - Neil Gaiman, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cthulhu Mythos, Double Life, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: The sound of gunfire startled him from his fugue, made the want ads fall off of his lap as he bolted to his feet. The sharp crack froze him for half a second before he rushed towards the source of the sound from his room.A fellow with whom he had attended school had introduced him to James Moriarty, who had proven himself odd at first, and even moreso upon moving in with him. He kept a small collection of bird skulls neatly lined up along the mantel, occasionally had ridiculously smelly experiments ongoing in any given part of the flat, and suffered from fits of mania and depression along with an inability to sleep as often as not.





	

Most mornings were improved to some measure by coffee and a half a pack of cigarettes, sitting by the window with it cracked open. He'd always believed it to be so, on his worst days, on the days when he didn't know why they were there or what they were fighting for, on the days when he hadn't wanted to negotiate shit with the enemy, whether it would have helped his men or not.

The difference was that all days were those days now. He woke up reeking of sweat and in pain and thirsty, and he knew he was lucky enough to have his senses about him. He had done his duty and given it all, and even half settled in with his new flat mate, everything still... It wasn't what it had been. Never would be again. Sebastian Moran had his wits about him enough to know that if he didn't move on with his life, or try, he'd succumb entirely.

The sound of gunfire startled him from his fugue, made the want ads fall off of his lap as he bolted to his feet. The sharp crack froze him for half a second before he rushed towards the source of the sound from his room.

A fellow with whom he had attended school had introduced him to James Moriarty, who had proven himself odd at first, and even moreso upon moving in with him. He kept a small collection of bird skulls neatly lined up along the mantel, occasionally had ridiculously smelly experiments ongoing in any given part of the flat, and suffered from fits of mania and depression along with an inability to sleep as often as not.

Frankly, if he had shot out his brains, it wouldn't have been so much of a shock as some people might consider.

He almost barged into Moriarty leaving his room. The man stood with a one-handed stance, and an ancient pistol in hand that looked like it hadn't been cared for in decades. There were two less bird skulls on the mantle, and shattered bits of bone on the floor -- and the first words out of his mouth weren't, "What the fuck are you thinking?" but instead, "Where the fuck did you get it?"

Dark brown eyes blinked at him, and god, but his moral compass was fucked. It was entirely clear that he saw nothing whatsoever wrong with shooting the bird skulls on his mantel. _Inside the house_. "Oh, this? I've had it for ages. Got it off of an old fellow when I solved a problem for him."

"Unbelievable. Do you even oil it?" He reached to put a hand on the barrel, pointing it down towards the floor -- and then hesitated because hell, their landlady was down beneath the floor, too, so even that wasn't safe. "Give it."

Thing of it was, he had gotten sort of attached. He hadn't meant to do as much, but the little bugger was kind of... Well, and in any case, he had reactions. Good reactions. Kind of amazing reactions, in fact, to the man's mere presence, which was more than he'd had in quite a long time now. That pout didn't help matters any. "But what if I need it?"

Ha. As if his mind weren't weapon enough.

"You'll get it back when it's been properly serviced. It won't do you any good if it takes off your hand in a misfire." He probably didn't even know what caliber or probably who made it. Sebastian tugged at the muzzle again, gentle, and felt the resistance start to relax enough for him to just take it. Standing that close to him wasn't a problem, either, even if he made himself pull away while he started to inspect the weapon.

The little twitch of Jim's mouth wasn't enough to give him away to anyone else; Sebastian, on the other hand, had several weeks to become accustomed. He had probably been after exactly that the entire time, and it had not occurred to him simply to ask. "Yes, Sebastian."

Honestly, the man was a disaster waiting to happen. He was fearless, and manipulative, and too fucking intelligent to be doing this. He was also just about as submissive as a major general, and that little facade did not fool him in the least. Not in the damn least, because he gave small smiles and flat answers and it was all tamped down in a careful way that was only just starting to corrode at the edges. Sebastian wanted to see what was under that facade. "Just ask the next time you want a weapon cleaned." After all, his work prospects had been... shitty.

Funny, in a bitter sort of way, but ultimately shitty. He wasn't ready to work yet, and his pension covered his half the rent enough that it wasn't worrying yet. Everything that had happened was too fresh and too sharp in his mind. Sitting down in the mid-morning to clean a gun was almost damned productive. 

He pulled away, ducked into his room to grab the cleaning kit, and headed towards the sofa and the coffee table in order to take care of the matter. It wasn't so much of a surprise when he heard Jim's mobile go off in his pocket. Just the sound of it made his pulse pick up its pace. That noise was always accompanied by something new, some case, some very interesting tidbit of reality, and it made him look up to check Jim's expression.

Oh.

"There's been a murder." That should not make a man's face light up so with interest. "Fetch the keys, Bastian. We will be going to Durward Street, and I've no urge to deal with public transit this evening."

Sebastian never wanted to deal with public transit, so there was an excellent crossover between Jim's laziness and Sebastian's unwillingness to go underground. He made the effort to at least put the pistol out of open and easy view, and reached to grab his coat from the rack.

Frankly, the best thing about living with Jim was that he didn't say shit about Sebastian's withered arm, and that he came with murder investigations that he was willing and able to drag Sebastian into. It was a lot better than looking at the want ads for contract work that would have him right back fighting for Queen and Albion.

Some things, he could not yet face. Perhaps he would never be able to do as much, and so it was far better to chase around investigating murders and dealing with whatever madness James Moriarty tumbled into this week.

He swiped the keys from the table once he'd shoved his withered arm into a coat sleeve, kept it held close to his body as he could manage. It hadn't been a big deal in the hospital, or the first bedsit he'd stayed in, but in day-to-day life, he might as well have had it amputated for all the good it did him, shaking and with the odd reflexive twitch when he least expected it, spasms of pain at random times. Jim was out the door before he was, apparently excited by the nature of the murder.

Sebastian was mostly sure Jim would replace those bird skulls on the mantle himself, with pigeons.

The man had a strange and unnatural interest in pigeons.

The car was tucked in a tiny garage that Mrs. Hudson mostly kept full of boxes –- Chaatmel ornaments and random glassware, things that had belonged to her husband. There were no few boxes of old experiments belonging to Jim, as well, marked with letters that probably made no sense to anyone else in the world. It smelled of old things and of the mechanics of the car, an older Aston Martin in a glossy green that Bastian enjoyed driving to no end.

One night, after a case, Jim had gone back up to the flat to ruminate on the clues while Sebastian had simply laid out on the bonnet and hugged the damn thing because *that* was a car. That was a gorgeous bloody fucking _car_ , an experience more than a drive. Dragging Jim's likely insane ass around London was no challenge for him, even steering one handed, in a car that damn lovely. He was careful backing it out, and it was only once it was out of the garage that Jim hopped inside. "What's the address?"

Lazily, Jim waved a hand. It was entirely at odds with the rest of him, which was a jumble of jittery tells. "Just drive towards Whitechapel. Durward Street. There is no specific address, but I expect we will be able to tell exactly where we are going when we arrive."

The police vehicles would likely give the location away, he supposed Jim meant. He pulled out into traffic, ready for the busy, stop and start drive to get there. It didn't make the car any less of a pleasure to drive, and Jim was already deep in thought, it seemed. Murder usually made him quieter and upbeat until there were clues to start considering.

It was somewhat startling when he turned in Sebastian's direction and spoke. "You may find this particular murder difficult." His voice was quiet, dark, deep. Two months ago, it never would have occurred to him to do such a thing, give a warning. "It involves Royalty."

After the meltdown Sebastian had inflicted on him about the fingers in the fridge, now. Now Jim remembered to warn him about those things. "Dead, or...?" It wasn't that he was seditious; it was just that they happened to look like the gods in Afghanistan, distant cousins, however they measured their bloodlines. Pale and slithering and wet and cold, buzzing and hot and inhuman and impossible and suffocating him, a sensation-thought that was always at the back of his mind waiting for him to trip on it so it could rise up and swallow him whole again.

"Oh, very dead," Jim assured him. "Most horribly so, in fact." If he registered that it was horrible, then it must be utterly and completely horrifying, a thought that made Bastian go still for one moment, hand on the wheel, and then he snapped back into himself and continued to drive.

"Huh." If nothing else, he supposed he'd lurk in the doorway and stare out of morbid curiosity. Jim's DI 'friend' didn't know what to make of Sebastian's presence at the crime scenes, four so far, and Sebastian hadn't made it a habit to talk to the man, because his background wouldn't lend any more credibility for his being there than just showing up was. 

The fact that Jim seemed to bounce ideas off of him as though he were playing handball likely had something to do with it. Then again, he had so far told them they were lovers, that he was, in fact, a hired hitman who willingly did Jim's bidding, and also that they planned to take over the world someday.

Needless to say, most of them had no idea what in the hell to do with him and they therefore went with the time-honored tradition of saying nothing at all.

"Apparently," Jim continued, "it was quite... messy." Yes, and Jim did like mess. He snapped when he was cranky, had a slew of lovers who never actually seemed to be invited back to the flat (he said he did not want them annoying him. Who said that about their lovers? Well, he supposed that it would depend a great deal on many things, but still), and became sickeningly drifty with glee at particularly vicious deaths.

If he weren't absolutely intent on showing up New Alba Yard, Sebastian might suspect that he was the sort to cause the damned things. Some of the police seemed to think so, in any case. 

Those little bleached bird skulls had a lot to answer for as a general representation of Jim's personality.

"Messy," Sebastian repeated, turning it over in his head. The idea was halfway between pure revulsion, and a deeper interest than he was comfortable talking about aloud, because that was every POW's revenge fantasy right there, except it was one of _their_ royalty, not... not an Afghan god, and that he had to keep reminding himself of it was likely problematic. "And the Yarders are so awestruck at the ichor and the smell that they've got no idea where to start?"

Jim's entire body beamed satisfaction. "Precisely, my dear Sebastian!" As though he were some sort of pet worthy of praise, although the fact that he treated it so seemed to be better still than the way he treated almost everyone else.

"Tells me they don't see a lot of them killed." And they didn't exactly pass on of natural causes from what anyone understood, so England was as much a safe haven for mankind to live freely as it was for Royalty to share the same level of safety. For people who hadn't traveled, who hadn't been in the military, they didn't understand the kinds of strains that existed outside of continental Europe and New Espanas. "They didn't mention how it looked like it had been done, did they? No, never mind. They're not that far." Up ahead he could see the red and green of the lights, and a traffic snarl from those poor buggers who wanted to drive past and couldn't.

The faces of the people gathered around were an interesting mix of curiosity (bystanders) and unspeakable horror (the police keeping the cordoned off area secure). The one clearly fed the other, but there was no helping that, not now. In that moment, Sebastian was sure that soldiers would have been a better call, men like himself who had seen far too much and experienced even worse than that. If nothing else, he could keep the fearfulness he felt off of his face if the matter required it.

Carefully, he slotted the car into what seemed to be the last available few metres for parking and glanced over at Jim. He was already on the move, pulling open the door and stepping out into the flashing lights of strobing police cars. It was a dingy and poorly lit area, one of those places where one suddenly went from a safe place to a dangerous one in a matter of steps, a tucked away little spot that had, apparently, been quite suitable for murder.

They'd set up lights outside the door, which told him how dark and dank it was in the little room space just off the street. He couldn't tell if it had been a room or an old storefront, but there was a bed and the salty musky smell that crossed the threshold before they did. "Chaat, that takes me back. Fuck."

Fuck, indeed, because splashes of ichor coated the walls in brilliant green, bright as any emerald. The body (because what else could it be called?) was spread haphazardly over some sort of divan that had seen better days.

"Well," Jim murmured, voice quiet. "This is one for the books, isn't it?"

Lestrade stepped around one of the forensics workers, face pale, jaw set. "God forbid. We can't even figure out how it could have happened, or who it is, exactly. Obviously Royal, but we can't figure out who as yet."

Sebastian looked, absorbed and almost hypnotized by the degraded body. More humanoid than most, much more humanoid. The skin was a little glowing yellow, from the edges he could see. There were two eyes set below a forehead, above where the carnage started. "Someone flayed him ritually. The... Rosettes." Sebastian leaned past Lestrade a little. He'd gotten a soldier back like that once. There'd be teeth laid at the top and bottom edges of every third 'fold'.

"Yes." Jim had that look about him, the one that said he recognized it, as well. He wondered how in hell he might have seen it. That was the sort of practice most generally reserved for third-world countries, and Jim had never left Great Britain, by his own declaration. "You will find teeth in the folds, Lestrade. Whoever did this, they know... too much." He was standing a significant distance from the body, almost as though it bothered him to see it. 

"Well clearly they know too much, it's..." Lestrade's voice lowered. "...Royalty! Uncomfortable doesn't begin to describe this situation. No matter what we discover, it is bound to be politically difficult. Worse yet, someone will need to tell the Queen."

Better Lestrade than him. Sebastian walked in closer, watching the floor with a hunter's eyes not to tread on anything of importance. "Could be a soldier back from the wars. We had boys come back like this. They might not even know what they're doing. I don't think this was actually a sacrifice to the crawling chaos."

There was a vestige of a jaw bone, too long to be quite human, laid carefully atop the mangled remains of what might have once been the fellow's crotch.

"Gloves." Jim held out his hand, expecting that they would be provided. He wasn't wrong, either, because Lestrade pulled some out of the pouch at his belt and offered them to him. He pulled them on, bright blue and thick and a bit too big for his hands. Sebastian supposed they had ought to lay in a store of gloves in an appropriate size, but it didn't seem to bother him. He stepped closer and began to explore the remains, the stain of green sliding over the gloves unpleasantly. "Yes. Just as you say. Teeth, although I am certain that they belong to this fellow here." Standing, he snapped the gloves off with care. "Perhaps you can reconstruct the order in which they belong. I expect it might well lead to another corpse of a completely different sort."

"What? I'm not following." Lestrade rubbed at the back of his neck, and looked to Sebastian who just shrugged at him as he mostly focused on breathing. It was like being underwater, that salt musk smell settling in his lungs in a way that made his wrist spasm, left him feeling lulled and panicked in the same moment.

Moving away from the corpse, Jim held out the gloves to Lestrade, gaze sliding to the right and then to the left. Clearly he had noticed something, because he tilted his head and hummed. "Yes. The teeth are human. I would guess from unwilling sacrifice, if I were guessing at all. Which I am not." Carefully, he rested a hand against Sebastian's shoulder, palm held over the aching numbness in the blade in a way that was always, always so warm.

It had startled him at first, that Jim touched him. He hadn't been touched in so fucking long. Even his physical therapist had seen his arm and sort of cringed in ways that spoke badly to the bastard's professionalism. Jim hadn't actually seen it, but he also didn't seem to give a shit, which was a comfort. "Christ. So some other murder scene in this fucking city that we don't know about yet..."

"I'd wager there's more than just one any given day. You got everything you need, Jim?" Seeing a butchered Royal really wasn't a revenge fantasy come true. It just made him sick at the thought, and queasy at the smell, and he wanted more than anything to get out of there. Now. Immediately, if not sooner.

"I have what there is." Jim was making a Face, and that face said there was little of significance beyond the obvious. "As this escalates, because it will escalate, things will become sloppier. As for now... You are looking for a man with medical skill, perhaps not surgical, but enough to suffice. The cuts are clean and almost neat, and definitely ritually defined. You are also looking for another man, taller, and with just a touch of Royal blood, I suspect. Otherwise, I cannot see how the victim could have been detained. There was magic here, old magic. The place still stinks of it, beneath the other more immediate smells."

Seb inhaled, because there was something familiar. The musk, that added richer smell that he'd never smelt off of a Royal before, before... "The musk? I know it's not the right word for it." He was looking at Jim, but caught Lestrade pulling a curious face at them both.

"Yes. The musk, for lack of a better term." It seemed to please Jim to no end that he could smell it. "That is precisely what I mean. Perhaps it exudes from the other man, but someone had to have at least a touch of the blood. Otherwise, the Royal would have overpowered them both without fail."

Lestrade placed a hand over his eyes, rubbing as though a headache lurked behind his eyes. "And how, exactly, can you know this?"

"He's Jim Moriarty, isn't he?" Sebastian leaned into the hand that was still on his shoulder, because the musk was still lulling and anxious and disgusting and it wasn't fading or something he could acclimate to smelling. "And it's all out there if you're a reader."

The roll of Lestrade's eyes was, at least, something he could look at as something familiar. "Yeah, yeah. Just... I'll contact you with more details, since it seems like you're finished." The smart-ass response was soothing, as well.

"Oh, I am far from finished; however, for now, Sebastian, drive me home." At least he didn't say driver, though he might well have explained Sebastian's presence thus at some point. One never knew with Jim.

"Right." And Lestrade was eyeing him, eyeing Jim before turning back to the crime scene. Sebastian was glad to get away from the place, to step back out to the cooler street. He hadn't noticed how warm it was in there, like a fetid rotting was already taking place. He dug the keys out of his pocket, and mostly focused on keeping pace with Jim as they passed what's her face. She made the same sour lemon _I warned you he'd end up a serial killer_ one day and he ignored it, as always.

Jim was smirking before they were out of earshot. "Oh, dear. Trouble in paradise. It would seem Anderson is diddling someone else at the office. Honestly, I don't understand the attraction."

Sebastian looked over his shoulder at her, and then back at Jim. "How in bloody hell do you pick that up?"

One shoulder shrugged. "The nose knows, my dear Sebastian. The chit standing behind Lestrade was wearing Anderson's deodorant. Honestly, you would think he'd get a store in just for when he's diddling someone on the side."

He shook his head, fingers feeling on the key ring for the main key. "I don't know how you picked it up. The musk in there was overwhelming." And it felt like it was clinging to their clothes, but at least the warm salt sea smell was left behind.

Jim shrugged again. "Habit, Sebastian. Long-standing habit, nothing else." Yes, and his hand was on Sebastian's shoulder again, just over the place that hurt so perpetually, and he gave a ragged sigh in response to that touch. "Don't worry about it. I will solve the puzzle, and everything will be fine."

Sometimes it hurt just to lie on bed on his back, shoulders flat against the mattress. There was no way, given how sharp Jim was with clues, that he didn't know the effect touching there had on him. Not when his wrist spasmed faintly like a wagging tail. "It's going to be an interesting case. Rosettes, someone else's teeth, and two killers."

"Oh, yes." When that hand pulled away, it was a disappointment, a return to aching. "I expect it will take us all sorts of places."

Then again, they were almost to the car, and Sebastian pulled away to unlock it and slide in behind the wheel. "It might save the flat a little damage as well."

Because leaving Jim bored was clearly a disaster in the making. He smiled at Bastian and tilted his head to the side. "It might indeed," he replied, and that was that.

~*~*~*~

The night brought with it nothing save foul sleep and a steady, wrenching ache in his shoulder blade. The memories dragged up from the depths of his consciousness had weighed heavy on him in the darkness, and he had finally given up on any hope of sleeping and decided that a shower might help relax him.

It was entirely possible that it might have, only his flat mate had no sense whatsoever of personal space.

"See here, Sebastian..."

He spun on the intruder without think too hard, all reaction, and smacked his good hand against the glass of the shower stall just as Jim loomed into view on the other side of the steam. "Fuck! Don't fucking do that!"

He had grown accustomed to that blank look that clearly held no concept of personal space. "Why not?"

"Because I'm in the damned shower!" Anxiety and anger spiked up at the same time, and he turned under the shower head for a moment to rinse before he pushed the door open. "Chaat. I don't do that to you!"

Jim's expression didn't change. If anything, it became even less understanding of the problem. "Well, you could if necessary."

He stared, watching Jim's completely nonplussed expression, and gave up, scrabbling for a towel to wrap around his hips as he stepped out. "Fuck. Fuck!"  Sebastian didn't want to be naked in front of anyone, but the metaphorical cat was out of the bag there. His scarring were things he didn't want to share, bizarre slightly uneven concentric circles that started around his nicked off left nipple, like the old hunting injury had actually _meant_ something. Or any of the small straight bloodletting marks on his clavicles.

Hastur be damned, he needed a shirt as well, or more towels. "You're unbelievable. All right, what is it?"

That manic grin would normally be something he was glad to see. Just at the moment, he was more interest in seeing him leave. "I have results from the blood."

He hadn't even seen him lift any of it. Doubtless the man would have been a successful thief if he wished it so. It did explain the strange smells, in any case.

Moving carefully, he knotted the towel at his waist, getting his crippled arm to partially cooperate before he reached for another towel. "What was it?" He couldn't even imagine how Jim knew what he was looking for or what the blood would tell him.

There was something distinctly shifty about the way that Jim looked away from him. It was odd, the way he sometimes recognized an action as perhaps having been over the line. "I identified the bloodline." He seemed almost breathless with excitement. "Our victim was from a branch of the Solms Royal line."

Sebastian rubbed at his side, half turned away from Jim while he grabbed a dry washcloth. There was very faintly that smell again, and Sebastian was trying to not be aware of it, to not concentrate. "How did you tell that from some blood you stole?"

"This and that," Jim offered, and that made Sebastian desperately suspicious. "There are methods. I think that you might prefer not to know."

He started to dry himself, feeling less relaxed than he had when he'd gotten out of bed in the first place. "It's in the newspaper that he's missing, isn't it?"

"Yes; however, I had already discerned that it was he." Moriarty pouted slightly at having his bubble burst. "And also that the persons responsible will not be satisfied with a single act of sedition." His dark gaze slid over the puckered scars on Sebastian's skin, making him deeply uncomfortable. "Not all Royals take such pleasure in harming their sacrifices, you know. Otherwise, even the Queen would fail to find consorts."

It was such a strange remark, and it made his skin itch. "I suspect they don't think of themselves as sacrifices, or it would never work." And she'd just had the one consort for the last twenty years, and... and he showed up in public, quite alert and sane. Sebastian generally wondered how the fellow functioned, funny accident or not.

He generally wondered how he'd ever managed to pull it together as well as he had personally. And Jim was still staring, so he wandered over to scoop up his t-shirt and boxers from the floor, wrist twitching again. "You should get the blood off of your hands. You reek of that musk."

"My apologies." It seemed stiff, altogether unlike the general ebullience which followed any discovery or new case to distract himself. Jim was a never-ending contradiction, which was, for the most part, entertaining. In this case, it was funny that he seemed insulted when he was the one who had walked in on Sebastian.

Apology given, he withdrew, leaving Sebastian to stare after him. He lingered in the bathroom, finished drying off, and wandered back to the main room. It was just getting past four a.m., and he was already fucked up. He might as well keep on that path, make some tea, find daylight from the wrong side. Jim was perched in his chair, still and thoughtful looking. There was just a light on in the corner. "You get any sleep?"

Fingers were steepled against his lips, brows beetles together darkly. "Mmm. I was busy."

At least that explained the mood swings a bit. Not that he ever seemed to need a justification, but Sebastian wasn't above drugging his tea the third day into a lack of sleep. He would keep an eye on it. Give him another day or two. "I know you probably have more than the murdered royal's name. Hungry?" Toast and sausage sounded about right just then. He'd never needed much of an excuse to stop and have a meal, and given that Jim was keyed up for a case, he might as well eat while he could.

One hand waved in a manner that might be dismissive or might mean yes. Sebastian shrugged and left him there thinking in order to scrounge up something resembling breakfast.

Perhaps he should have been prepared for the disaster he found in the kitchen -- test tubes and phials, strange unguents and more of that smell.

He swore, and danced around to the other side to avoid it, checking to see if at least the coffee maker hadn't been involved in the fiasco. The smell was starting to leave him feeling a little unhinged -- there was no anxiety sense to it, not since they'd left the crime scene. Now there was just a soothing lull that clung along with the smell. 

If he hasn't been a soldier, and a hunter before that, he might not have noticed it. It was light yet pervasive, annoyingly so. The scent tweaked at memory and made him grind his teeth. He hoped that the smell of brewing coffee would be enough to cover it, to at least lull him into believing that whatever it was either wasn't there or that it was not dangerous.

Of the smells from that day, the sea salt heaviness had been the most horrifyingly familiar, though the anxiety inducing one was familiar as well. And what had Jim said? It was proof of magics.

Sebastian made the coffee and toast, carefully avoiding deeper thought as he grabbed two mugs one handed and carried them in before backtracking for toast. He was just a paranoid bastard. It was nothing, and he was going to face it down. He was going to stare his fear in the eye and get control of it.

Now if only he could convince his instincts to obey his conscious thoughts, everything would be fine.

He set coffee and toast down in front of Jim, and settled in across from him, watching the other man think. He spent a lot of time watching the other man think, spent a lot of time watching shit telly as well, but it was too early in the morning for it to be anything worth distracting himself with. The sun hadn't even come up yet.

"What's the explosion waiting to happen in the kitchen?"

That caught his attention, made him look up at Sebastian and raise an eyebrow. "I did say there was magic involved. Are you sure you want to know?"

"I'm curious." And he had an inkling that he decided he'd rather eat toast than think about.

Jim stretched himself out and stood, glancing at the window. "This world we live in is a balance between old gods and new science. More and more, we see ways to explain the unexplainable, and yet there are also some things which we cannot explain. Which we may never be able to explain, such as the reproduction which occurs between Royals and humans. It should not be possible, and yet, rarely, it is, creating... in any case, I had the blood. And the knowledge, so with a bit of science and a bit of magic, almost anything is possible."

"So what did you do?" Sebastian pressed, watching him curiously as he stood. Well, if he went to bed just then, Sebastian supposed he could drink Jim's coffee, as well.

The spark of him as he strode closer made Bastian watch him carefully. The scent didn't seem as present now, so clearly he had done something to dispel it. "Magic." A wiggle of fingers seemed sarcastic. "Given the right combination, chemicals and alchemy do have a way of working. I simply.... found the right path. So to speak."

Dangerous, probably.

He cocked an eyebrow, and ran a hand back through his hair, watching Jim's bright, sharp expression and posture. "You know, when I ask what you did, I'm generally asking for specifics, not the ABN news vagaries."

The way Jim hunched his shoulders and scowled made Sebastian gird himself. "Fine. It is... an old family recipe, so to speak." He licked his lips, and then his chin tilted upwards, a bright, gamin smile that was utterly false stealing over his features. "Blood calls to blood, Sebastian. Are you happy now? I would be delighted to fetch you the instructions."

Blood calls to blood.

He took a sip of his tea, and didn't break eye contact with Jim. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that he was sure started screaming, but. Jim. "No, I can follow the gist without instructions. So, uh..."

Laughter was an unexpected outcome of attempting to force the conversation. "My dear Sebastian." That was much more pleasant, made his heart go back to beating somehow instead of stopping in horror. "Is there nothing I can say that will set you running?"

He picked up a piece of his toast to munch on. "There might be, but I'd rather appreciate you didn't keep trying. I'd prefer to be up and functional today."

When he stepped close again, that scent was still there, warm and beguiling now, and Jim's black eyes seemed brighter. Wider. More inviting. "Yes. I quite prefer the same. Shall we look into Prince Gunther's last few days, then?"

It was him. It was him, it was him, it was all Jim that warm musky scent, fettering off of him when he was uncomfortable, when he was interested, and Sebastian wondered how many times he'd dismissed it and only made the match with the context and the anxiety. Fuck. Fuck! "I'll put my boots on, then. It probably involved hookers."

"As I said." He seemed so pleased with himself. "Not all Royals take such pleasure in harming their sacrifices, or the rest of the world would surely know that the good prince quite liked to indulge with prostitutes. It would have ended up splashed in media sympathetic to sedition."

Fuck. That was going to take a while to process past a sort of determined, one foot in front of the other way. "It might... Might just maybe, as a PR sort of recommendation, go pretty far to stop calling your irregular stabs sacrifices." He stood up, still holding onto his tea.

Everything seemed to settle, as Jim reached out to snag his own cup. "Mmmm, there is that. The term is, I admit, rather technical, but it simply isn't the same as having a live-in one."

And there he was. Sebastian stood there for a moment, before turning to pad barefoot out of the living room. He needed to throw on working clothes, and be ready for Jim to lead him off into god knows where in pursuit of the case. The rest, he could think about later.

Much, much later.

Decades later, given proper opportunity.

Perhaps even centuries later. Then he wouldn't have to think about it again ever.

~*~*~*~

He was going to be doing an awful lot of smoking before the case was over, Sebastian decided, as he and Jim rolled up outside of a brothel where the police were already present and the girls were sobbing outside and talking with detectives. That was all he needed to know, and it was a divide and conquer moment -- Jim would go inside, and Sebastian would try to work the crowd, scan, see who was there.

He was getting remarkably good at that bit.

"I will return shortly. If you like, Lestrade is... that way." He didn't bother pointing, and Sebastian did not ask how he knew. The strobing lights were in the opposite direction.

"Will do." Fact of it was, they'd followed another tip to get to the crime scene, and Lestrade hadn't called them. Still, best to check in when Jim barged in and was a dick. He didn't need to see this body himself, didn't want to. Finding Lestrade was a better idea.

The crowd was bothersome, full of onlookers who wanted to know what was going on and whores who clearly new too much. One in particular stood beside the closest set of flashing lights seemed in particular to be suffering from shock, and Donovan was close by her. It was as good an indicator as anything else.

He sidled in, smiling or trying to, because having a focus on something to do was much better than thinking just then. Fuck. "Hey, Donovan. Have you seen Lestrade?"

She glanced up from her notebook with a scowl. "Fantastic. If you're here, then that means the mad little monster is here. I can see this as a disaster in progress."

"Happy to add to it," he said, throwing the girl a tight smile. "I want to update him on what we've got so far, and spare him Jim's condescending shit."

" _We_ don't have anything. What we have is a need for you to take your little friend and get away from our crime scene. We're busy."

Busy not paying any attention to the redhead shivering three feet away in an effort to drive him off, in any case. Sometimes he wondered about the sheer glut of dislike she had for Jim. Perhaps she sensed whatever was off about him, as well.

"Well, you're right when you say you don't have anything. Wouldn't keep calling us up if you did, would you?" He smiled, and turned to leave, because fuck, not up to fighting her just then. He turned instead to the redhead, caught her eyes. "Chaat, haven't they brought a blanket out for you?"

"No." Her lower lip was trembling, red hair a tumble of curls with a clear case of bedhead. "I'm not that cold, I..." She was clearly in shock of some sort. Donovan had all of the womanly skills of... well. Jim. Sebastian was fairly certain that he had a few more than other of them.

"Anderson is bringing one."

Yeah. He doubted that.

He tsked, and moved to shepherd her gently into the shade of the building, which would at least block the wind. "I know this has been a bad day for you."

Clearly. She was still shaking, looking around as though she expected someone to come out of the shadows. "That doesn't begin..."

Yeah, and so he pulled off his coat and offered it to her, watching Donovan closely. He was pretty sure she was most likely thinking of ways to arrest him right now. She just didn't have any. "Do you want to talk about it? We're trying to find the people responsible for doing that to your friend." Killing working girls just because they'd sleep with Royalty, that was too far. It wasn't as if there were any saying no.

Sebastian was uncertain when it came to dealing with tears. "Poor Cathy. She weren't doin' nothin', just seein' the Prince. He liked her, he did. Paid well, nothin' freaky, not like some of the others."

"Did she have other clients who were regulars?" He wasn't going to ask the obvious leading questions, like we're any of her clients against the Royals. It didn't necessarily have to be about her. It could've just been about the prince.

The hiccough of her breath made her seem young. "A few. She had the special ones, mostly." Another sniff. "You know the ones."

"I'm afraid a little elaboration might help us catch the killer." He watched her, stayed in close so she could talk more quietly.

Biting into her lower lip, she tucked her hair back behind an ear. "You know. The _special_ ones. The ones that could pass, or almost. Liked 'em, she did. Said they were... well, anyway, but it didn't bother her none. Some of the other girls do it less regular, but Cathy, she saw them mostly. There was rumors of all sorts, but... but I never saw nothin'."

"All right." A lot of them, then. The ones who couldn't get laid in a normal way, but weren't getting ladies tied up and offered to them on a fuck, fuck, no, still too close. He exhaled, forced his smile to stay up. Anderson was coming up at last, orange shock blanket in hand. "And here's the blanket patrol. Stay with friends for a few nights, all right?"

She offered him a shaky nod, wiping at her cheeks. "We'll be all right. It's all been arranged, hasn't it? A place." Which seemed odd, but Sebastian didn't know very much about prostitution as a commercial enterprise. Could be that was standard, but he doubted it.

Pretty classy if that was the proprietor’s plan. "Is it? That's good. Take care of yourself, miss." He waited until Anderson was up on him to take back his coat, heading for Lestrade to see where they were, and if they knew everything he and Jim knew yet.

Probably not. Sebastian expected that Jim knew more than he was willing to reveal. He always seemed to do so, and it made Sebastian curious as to where exactly he learned it. Information seemed to come into their flat in fits and spurts, strange and random. It made him unbearably curious.

He wanted to know how that happened, what happened, what the little pieces of information Jim was hiding were. Where his lovers were now, and if, if... Chaat, that was bothering him to think about, and he just hoped it wasn't visible as he walked over and caught Lestrade's eyes. "Jim's up there looking at the body."

"Of course he is. I expect he even managed to slip past all of the forensics guys on the floor, too. You know, sometimes I wonder what sort of world it would be if that man took up crime as a pastime. I think I'm glad we're in this one," Lestrade decided, rubbing his thumb across his jawbone. "We've figured out who it was the other night. German prince, used to come here quite often."

"Same." Sebastian shrugged back into his coat, and looked towards the door. "Jim's got more on this than he's saying. I'm inclined to say it's sedition, and they killed her for fucking him."

That snort wasn't unexpected. "Of course he knows more than he's saying. He always knows more than he's saying, in fact. I think he enjoys the sheer knowledge, and the joy of knowing more than the rest of us poor mortals."

"Yeah, try living with him." Sebastian looked toward the door again. "I'll duck in and retrieve him. We'll let you know if we get ahead of you on this, then."

Lestrade made a sharp gesture of irritation. "You're already ahead, I don't doubt. I expect him to call right around the time he gets a chance to gloat."

"Yeah, we're not there yet." He waved to Lestrade, half cordial as he leaded past the crime scene tape in singular pursuit of Jim. He was usually more focused on the case than that, but he was scattered by the case itself, by the things it represented and all of the strange and unusual things that kept cropping up. It was discomfort and he didn't know what to do with himself anymore except hang on and follow Jim.

Their presence wasn't questioned at scenes that often; Donovan hated them both, and Anderson honestly wanted to see Jim under a granite slab, but most of the time, people assumed they were there on a job. This wasn't any different, and so Sebastian expected to find Jim wherever the body was.

He wasn't there. In fact, he wasn't in most of the places that he looked, until, of course, he reached the last one.

It was always the last place you looked where you found something, after all.

Jim was standing in a small office, talking on his mobile, a woman sitting nearby looking serious. They were, after all, there on a job. Of sorts. Lestrade had called Jim about it. He slipped into the room, keeping his expression neutral in case there was a role Jim was playing that he wasn't quite in on. Failing to play along was something he was trying not to commit, after having had a hysterical stumble on their second bit of work involving a stolen vase. "Ma'am."

Funny, how she didn't look to Jim at all, just concentrated on Sebastian. "Hello, we were just..."

"I was asking a few questions about Cathy. Nice girl, all told. Shame about what happened." Jim smiled at him, but it felt off.

The thing of it was, he wasn't an idiot. He'd spent a couple of weeks completely addled, and he was turning into a bit of a pillow biter to stop howling himself hoarse in his sleep, but he wasn't fucking stupid, and that was like walking in on two corporals who were badmouthing the chain of command and or discussing how best to fuck them. He cocked an eyebrow at the woman. "Sorry, we haven't met -- I was speaking with a few of your girls. They said you were relocating them...?"

There was something, just something, and the general emergence of his intuition should really be bothering him. "Yes. I decided that it was better to move everyone. Clearly the house isn't safe."

Hummed agreement came from Jim. "Clearly."

He tilted his head down, watching the looks that passed between them. Then her eyes darted to Jim in the quiet, and Bastian looked at him as well, trying to gauge if he were going to give anything away. "Chaat. I've seen better performances in shitty public school plays about the Rise. I'll be down in the car, Jim, when you're done playing amateur theatre."

"Oh, all right." Jim shrugged himself into motion and slipped his hands into his pockets, smiling. "I've been masquerading as someone on the side of the angels. It's just so boring, Sebastian. It is, it is deathly horrifically boring, and I need to be occupied."

He checked that the door was closed behind him, though it had been since he'd stepped inside. "Is this yours, or...?"

"Of course it is. How else could I have simply walked right inside? Even Anderson would have to notice me roaming about his crime scene eventually and deny me the right." So clearly he had known how to get around the house, and honestly. It just... he would like to say that it was a shock. He hadn't honestly expected a week ago or two weeks ago. There had just been something... off about him.

There were so many things off about him.

He sat down, perched on the edge of a too ornate table that'd probably been fucked on a couple of times. "Okay. All right. Do you mind if I smoke?" He was already reaching for it, because unbelievable, but believable as well.

Jim's dark head tilted to the side. "Go right ahead. It won't be the first time someone smoked here. Filthy habit." That was an aside to the woman, who shook her head.

"Wretched," she agreed. "But it does go hand in hand with the business."

He lit up, took his time breathing it in as he let that revelation settle into his mind. "Well. Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Sebastian." And he and Jim could probably finish the rest of the conversation at home, or on the drive back, because he damn sure wasn't going to discuss it in front of her.

"You may call me Miss Adler." The way she stood and offered her hand was regal, and it brought the hair on the back of his neck to standing.

Either the world was crawling, completely crawling with them, the ones who could pass, or Jim just happened to have made friends with most of them in London. And he'd never paid it much attention before his captivity, before his entire world had been redefined for him. He took her hand, bent and kissed the back because his father had made sure he'd been taught manners that far. The way she smiled when he stood would probably have been enticing to almost anyone else, but then Jim stepped closer, and it was almost as though she had been warned off because she backed away, peeking up at him from beneath her lashes.

"Let us go home, Sebastian."

He fitted his cigarette between his lips, and fished out the keys, taking half a step backwards to the door. "Gladly."

They left the scene by the front door, same as they'd gone in, with Jim sharply rebuffing Anderson and another of Lestrade's men as they passed. No one stopped them, and Sebastian stayed quiet until he was in the car and the motor had started up enough that he could pull into traffic. 

"How long have you been dabbling in crime solving?"

Jim shifted, and there was the hint of that smell again. He would not be put off, he would not be soothed, he absolutely would not under any circumstances. "As long as I've been dabbling in the other. It's all..." His hands made a motion, complicated and somehow explicatory. "It is all desperately tedious, and I grow tired of the uninteresting. Solving crimes and finding criminal solutions gives a nice balance to things."

"It's wider than just whorehouses, isn't it? Because that'd get dull fast." He focused on the drive, on getting back home. "You already had the girl's customer list before we left the flat."

"I had the girl's customer list weeks ago. It is, after all, a business. It takes effort to run it as such." It was obvious that Jim didn't want to tell him everything. He wondered if it was some sort of notion that he would somehow object.

Given the floorshow of bad acting he'd already seen, the answer was yes. "Fuck. I have no fucking clue what to do with you, Jim. None."

It was a little shocking when he turned in his seat and looked at him, expression strange. "This is why I didn't tell you. You seemed..." He waved a hand. "Tiresomely moral."

He wasn't sure what offended him worse -- the tiresomely moral assumption, or the fact that it'd taken him so fucking long for the pieces to start falling into place. He switched lanes, still heading roughly homeward. "Then you didn't really put much effort into reading up on me."

"I read everything," Jim disagreed. "Your morals may be unconventional, but they leave very little room for the existence of... a particular sort of person. And there are quite a few of them in my particular organization."

He was quiet for a moment, drumming his thumb against the steering wheel. "They kept me in a stone cell next to that damn wading pool for four weeks. And you're, you... are you doing that scent thing on purpose, or does it just happen?"

There was a slow, steady blink in response to that question. "It just happens. It has never happened before, not that I can recall. Perhaps no one else ever noticed."

"It's driving me crazy. I want..." He inhaled smoke, let it settle at the back of his throat. "I want to say fuck the case and do things that I haven't wanted to do since Afghanistan."

Oh, that was an interesting expression. "I find myself uncertain as to precisely how I might take this statement."

"Given that I'm driving you back to the flat, I don't mean murder." There was another softer wave of the soothing musk, and he still wanted answers, answers to everything, except it carried with it an urge to just turn into Jim and fuck him right there in the car.

Dear gods above, all of them, how? How had any of this come to pass? He knew how this ended, he knew what this _did_ , and he could not. He couldn't, because this ended with him unable to do the simplest of things for himself. It ended horribly, it ended with him a wreck again, and he'd just gotten his shit together, he'd just gotten back to living, and there he was, suggesting a quick trip through what was completely insane of him like it was healthy.  There was no way he could do that and. And, he was suggesting it. "So."

"So." That was horribly annoying, "Are you, in fact, prepared for what you are suggesting?"

Sometimes he thought that Jim said these things purely because he liked to see the manner in which Sebastian would react. What he tended to get was honestly, sometimes thought out first, mostly not. "Not in the least. No, I have no, no idea if I could."

Oh. Knife sharp smile, and that was... terrifying and attractive and he was so very utterly unprepared for that look. "Then the best thing we can do is try. Do drive faster, Moran." And with that statement, Jim turned back to watch where they were going.

Sebastian kept his eyes on the road for the rest of the drive, half tense with anticipation and half tense with worry, and fuck the case. Fuck it. The Yard could work it for a few days on their own and then Jim would stick his head out and ring circles around them like he'd never even stopped briefly.

There were far too many teeth in Jim's smile.

~*~*~*~

Mrs. Hudson wasn't summoned for tea, and Sebastian headed into the living room, taking his coat off. Jim's movements were calm, easy, precise. It left him wondering what was some kind of glamour, and what was real, and what Jim was hiding under the facade. And then he didn't want to know at all, because Jim headed for the stairs to his room, with a gesture of his head that bade Sebastian to follow him. Just a faint indication, a look in those dark eyes, and he followed him willingly as though there had never been any question that he would. The light from the loo spilled across the hallway and then Jim slipped into darkness and Sebastian just... went after him, and his heart was in his throat, beating wildly, and then Jim touched him and everything went still, clicked into place, and oh.

Fuck.

Hand against his shoulder, radiating slow heat, and he went with it for once, slid his good arm around Jim's waist, the fabric of his shirt holding onto some of his warmth as he leaned in close to kiss him in the dark. His palm slid over a protrusion just at Jim's waistband, below it, at the back, and he focused instead on the other man's incredible heat. Fuck.

Soporific, a bit, and then Jim's hand stroked up his chest, settled over the marks and the scar on his chest, fingers spreading wide even as his lips parted to grant Sebastian access. It was unexpectedly sweet and tempting, and the scent of him wafted close around him in a way that left him groaning into Jim's mouth, into his touch, made the possibilities, probabilities, of what was coming drift away.

He'd been so cold, touch starved, and kissing Jim was nothing like what he'd feared. There were too many teeth, but the motions were completely human, the slow sucking slide of tongue good enough to make his leg shake a little in reaction. He wanted to try undressing Jim at the same time, but his left arm was aching and disconnected again, wrist spasming on its own as he tried to pull at Jim's shirt buttons.

"It's all right." Jim's voice was still Jim's voice, dark and rich and low, and he had fucking _hands_ , hands that made sense, and he was being allowed to pull at Jim's clothing, get it loose, get it free. This was different, incredibly so, and he couldn't stop the way he moaned and rocked into ever little touch.

He hadn't wanted, just hadn't wanted to feel anything like that. He got his hands against Jim's skin, smooth and satin soft to the touch as he pushed Jim's shirt off of his shoulders. His fingertips brushed something soft and warm just at Jim's shoulder blades, leathery, that stretched out under careful touch.

"...Wings?"

"We aren't all the same sort." Resonance, yes, God-Voice, thrumming in his mind with a force that caught his breath and made him nearly moan with the fear and the desire. This was nothing like Afghanistan. "Which is not to say that we do not enjoy similar... pleasures, but I prefer consorts to sacrifice."

It was probably for the best that they were doing it in the dark. That he could feel and process it with his senses and not just his eyes. "I prefer mammals to octopi." He preferred to have a say, to slide his fingers down to Jim's waistband, pulling at it. The musk was wafting off of Jim again, tamping down the fear.

Making this something that he could do, not something that he could suffer. The man was a contradiction, a god, easily bored with everything, and that explained so much. Fingers stroked down his short front, parting the buttons with less than a thought, and then _something_ , some unspeakable thing, stroked over his back and under his shirt, rested against his ruined shoulder blade and made him moan.

"Oh, fuck." It was skin, not slime, but it wasn't something he wanted to consider as he leaned into Jim and edged his thigh between Jim's legs. He exhaled in a pant of breath, getting his fingers in against Jim's hipbones. "What, where..." Did that come from, did he hide that day to day?

"Magic." Same word he had used that morning, different context entirely. Fucking Chaat, he had no idea what to do with that except huff out a breath and accept it, the darkness and the smell of Jim making that so much easier to do. He leaned in, nose against Jim's neck, and then sucked against the skin, bit, tasted. Every motion he made seemed to be blending together, a thick roil of pleasure that was slowly taking his grounding away from him. Jim's hips, his bone structure seemed to be right, and he focused on that, the taste of the musk and normal sweat against his mouth, the touch of his fingertips against oddly downy feeling pubic hair as he started to shove down Jim's slacks and pants.

"Just so." The fact that he still had words at his disposal seemed to Sebastian to be entirely unfair and so he furthered his efforts, finding exactly what he had expected when his fingers clasped around the turgid length of Jim's cock. That was a relief, and it made him gasp. Even the pressure soothing its way over his wrecked shoulder didn't distract him from it, and Jim gave a sound that was simultaneously aloud and somewhere in Sebastian's head.

He felt the gasp down at the base of his spine from how it had echoed. It goaded him into stroking, into trying to get them both naked and perhaps in bed, which he hoped was close to where they were standing, His eyes were still adjusting in the dark, and he honestly didn't want them to. Maybe in a couple of months "You feel amazing. Fuck."

"Just wait." And yes, there was the bed, banging against the side of his left knee. Somehow, he managed to get them onto it, Jim sprawled atop him and rubbing him in far too many places at once. More places than Jim had hands. There was another hot slithery caress against his side, nearly paralyzing for a moment before hands shoved his pants down and he had something to focus on again. Clothes ended up on the floor, where they belonged, and he wrapped his good arm around Jim to kiss him again. It was that or start counting how many appendages there were, and he wasn't ready for that. He might never be ready for that, and Jim would have to accept it, regardless. Would have no other choice, and then he shifted, got Bastian properly on his back and did something strange and impossible and against all law of physical, and Bastian's breath stuttered.

There were two hands on his hips, and Jim's, the whatever the fuck it was curled against his withered arm while he kissed him, and then there was the unexpected press like a finger against his arse, slick and unhesitating, and Chaat, he was for a moment back in the caves, in the cold, and then he felt Jim's teeth on his lips, the whatever the fuck it was flex. It was, in combination, maddening and unbearable, made him moan wildly into Jim's mouth. The slick clutch around him tightened and Jim laughed. His cock slid against Sebastian's belly, leaving a slick little trail. His hands pressed against Bastian's shoulders and he was everywhere. Around him, in him, in him, and oh fuck. *In* him, and it didn't hurt except that it did, triggered off a bone deep ache that tightened his balls. Bastian slid his good hand down, cupped Jim's ass, and felt another smaller one curl around his wrist. He could feel, he, god. The source of them and the soft downy feathers, and then whatever it was in him moved, and he lifted his hips up to it. "Fuck, gods, oh fuck..."

"Yes." Harmonics, maybe, and Jim was rising, wild over him and with him, and Sebastian understood, now, the girls at the house, the idea that they would be willing because this, this was fantastic. It hurt, and it throbbed within him, splintering sensations into fractured moments, feathers against his fingers and Jim's hands on his shoulders, and trying to kiss him again, and the funny wet slide of dick against his stomach, against his cock when he was already impaled on Jim and just trying to get more.

The desperate, horrible perfection of it thrilled through him at every turn, made him wild, made him want nothing more than to be like this forever. Jim was kissing him, riding him, taking him, and then he did something completely amazing that Sebastian would probably never be able to define because it was a whiteout of sexual bliss.

He lost himself to it, and Bastian wasn't sure when he came to, except that Jim was half lying atop him, possibly asleep. Chaat, he felt deeply body sore, his head still reeling. Jim was Royal. Jim was Royal, a consulting detective, and (quite possibly) a criminal mastermind.

Some of these things were not like the others. It all made his mind swim a little, made him blink and shudder at the thought, but there was Jim, feeling human again, and a sharp nip of teeth told him that he wasn't sleeping.

He swallowed, and his throat was a little raw feeling. He tilted his head, shifted his good hand against Jim's back. The sharp nip of teeth felt damn good, better than any muzzle wrapping. "Am I still alive?"

"It would seem so." That amusement made him want to smack something. Instead, he slid a hand down and dared to pinch Jim's thigh. The resulting yelp was somehow entirely pleasing. He liked the feel of Jim's soft skin against his fingers. 

"Satisfactory?" Mind-blowing for him, and Sebastian wanted to try every piece of that again, more focused. He wanted to catalogue what was properly going on next time, and see just what Jim was capable of. He wanted to see how much he could handle. 

He wanted to see if every time would be like that. Maybe one day he'd even want to know what Jim looked like in his true form.

Not just yet, though.

Carefully, Jim rested a hand against Sebastian's shoulder. It made him awkwardly aware of it, and them Jim leaned in and caught his mouth again. He supposed that was answer enough to his question, and he could feel Jim's fingers, warm against aching nerves and grated muscle, and then a sharp sharp stab of pain made him gasp against Jim's mouth, scrabbling with his good hand against Jim's back for a moment as if getting purchase against his skin would make it stop.

This, then. This was the horror he had been expecting, and he cried out, desperate to get away. He would do anything, just to make it stop, and then it did. It eased from searing screaming pain to a warmer bloom that left him panting and confused, because Jim hardly seemed roused. "Fuck, fuck, what're, what..."

"Do try to find something like coherence again before you speak," Jim drawled, nipping at his jaw line.

He half laughed, and then swallowed against the feeling of fading pain and slowly easing anxiety. "What was that I felt?"

"Move your arm." It was an order, practically purred.

Bastian didn't have to ask what arm -- the painful one, the stiff one, and the one Jim was seeping heat into slowly. He struggled for a moment, twisted his wrist, and waited for the spasm after the bend. It didn't come, it moved -- not strongly, but it was listening to him. He moved the fingers, felt the faint tremor, but they moved when he wanted them to. "You..." 

Fixed him.

"Magic," Jim replied, and he was such a smarmy fucker. He had been doing something all along, Sebastian was certain of it. "I think you have talents which will be of great use to me on all of my chosen pursuits."

"You know I used to be a sniper." And that was a hard skill to buy, but Jim had *known* when he'd first moved in and tried to caution him about how he had a couple of guns. He'd already known, and it made him wonder just when Jim had started watching him. Before or after they'd been introduced? 

But it didn't matter at all. "I think I jumped out of the fire and into the frying pan. And I don't mind."

That nip at his lower lip was sharp, made him give a noise of protest. "Yes. I had expected that it would be so."

He deeply believed that Jim had. But instead of arguing, he moved his bad arm, slowly, aching, but Chaat, _moving_ , and curled it over Jim's shoulders. "I want to feel your wings next time."

"All right," Jim agreed, and nuzzled closer against him. "Perhaps one day you will see the rest." And if he worked up to it, slowly, he might actually come to comprehend it. Eventually, he might comprehend it and not fall apart. As it was, he could curl his fingers against the base of Jim's spine and feel the faint remnants of those downy feathers blending away into skin.

The case and the murdered royal and the dead whore could be dealt with in the morning.

For now, he was going to contemplate how to properly thank the person who was clearly going to be his new god.


End file.
